The Favour
by RinnaMarie
Summary: Ron agrees to help Hermione out of a tight spot, but what happens next suprises everyone
1. Default Chapter

"Please, Ron," said Hermione Granger, pacing around the cramped living room of Ron Weasley's flat. "I've never asked you to do anything like this. Do me this one favour."

"Why me?" Ron asked. "Why not have Harry do it?" Harry Potter was obviously the better choice as an escort. He was used to muggle things, after all, having lived with some for so long. And he was used to going to fancy-dress events. After the defeat of Voldemort, Harry dedicated the next few years to helping the families that had been torn apart during the war. He had inherited quite a bit of money from his godfather, and donated most of it to the relief efforts. But, as that alone wasn't enough, he started working with the newly-reorganized Ministry for Magic to raise money, especially for children orphaned in the war.

Hermione bit her lip, trying to keep from stamping her feet in frustration. "Harry'll be in Romania then on a goodwill visit, and he can't exactly pop home for an afternoon. And I can't show up alone, Auntie Rania would never let my mum hear the end of it."

"So just don't go," said Ron, completely failing to see the importance of the event, or how much it mattered to Hermione.

"It's my cousin's wedding, Ron. I have to be there," she said. "It's not like I'm asking you to break your wand in half and go live with the muggles forever, is it? It's just one day. Please. For me."

Ron sighed. Any other day, and he'd be glad to do it. But the day in question was his first Saturday off in weeks, and he had tickets to see the Chudley Cannons take on the Wimbourne Wasps. "Why is this so important? It's just a wedding. And besides, you're the one that told me muggles can up and get un-married if they feel like it, so why not just hope for that and catch the next one?"

Hermione swatted him on the arm. "I'm not going to hope that Sasha gets divorced." She sighed, and sat down gingerly on a rickety arm chair. "Look, my mum and her sister have been battling over bragging rights between Sasha and me since our nursery school days. It was horrible when I was at Hogwarts. Of course, Mum couldn't tell anyone where I went to school, and Auntie Rania never let my mum hear the end of it, me not going to a proper academy. And then when Sasha started at Oxford, it started up all over again. My mum can't even tell her what it is I do. They think that I've been living in America for the past five years, studying to be an archaeologist."

"A what?" said Ron.

"An archaeologist. It's a person who travels all around the world, looking for ancient cities or artifacts," Hermione said.

"Why would your mum tell them a thing like that?" Ron asked, scratching his head in confusion.

"Well, they can't exactly go around telling people I'm a curse breaker, now can they?" said Hermione. She sighed again. "Look, all I'm asking is that you spend one day pretending to be my doting boyfriend. I'll do anything. I'll buy you Quidditch tickets."

"I've already got Quidditch tickets," said Ron. "For next Saturday."

"Fine," said Hermione, "I'll buy you tickets for every game the Cannons play next season." Ron's jaw dropped, and he looked at her in absolute incredulity. "I'm serious, Ron," she said. "I'm desperate. Please do this for me."

Ron looked at her. It wasn't like he didn't want to spend time with Hermione. Quite the opposite, in fact. Not three weeks after leaving Hogwarts, she'd accepted a position as a curse breaker, and left to apprentice with his older brother Bill in Egypt. She'd pop back into town for a few days now and then, but it had easily been three years since they'd spent any time together.

Ron and Harry got together often enough. They both worked for the Ministry; Harry, when he wasn't visiting other countries on goodwill trips, worked in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and Ron worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry had wanted to play Quidditch professionally for a time, but a lingering injury from the final battle kept him on the ground now. However, he turned out to be a talented promoter, and was almost surely lined up to take over for the current Head of the Department a few years down the line. Ron liked his work in Magical Law. He'd learned from Hermione how to appreciate research, and had been training to become what she'd called a 'solicitor.'

The problem, Ron decided, with the current situation was that he was entirely unsure how to act around muggles. He had no idea what happened at a muggle wedding. And, he supposed, he'd have to go out and buy some muggle dress clothes. That would please his father, at any rate. His father would fall over with joy if he found out Ron was going to spend an entire day with muggles.

Hermione, meanwhile, stood up and began pacing the floor again. She silently prayed that he'd agree to accompany her. She loved her family, but she wasn't about to go anywhere near them be herself, her grandmother in particular. Grandmother Granger was a wonderful person, but she was quite old-fashioned. The fact that Hermione had reached the age of 23 without a proper husband was downright scandalous, in her grandmother's eyes. Bringing along a date would help to stem the flood of questions she knew she'd receive.

Besides, she thought to herself, it's not exactly as if Ron's unpleasant to look at, He was still as tall and lanky as every, only he seemed much more graceful; he'd finally grown into his long limbs. He had a strong, handsome face, and kept his hair in a fashion that made his mother beg to give him a trim. He looked adorably disheveled most of the time, which, according to the muggle women's magazine Hermione had nicked from her parents' office, was a very popular look for muggle men. She was prepared to buy him a suit, and had even picked up some books and magazines aimed at muggle men, to coach him in the proper ways to act. His behavior, however, would be something to worry about after he agreed to go.

He watched her pace the floor, something he'd not seen her do since Hogwarts. "Suppose I agree to go," he said slowly. "I'll need to get some proper clothes, won't I?"

"Yes, but I'll buy them for you, if you like. I don't want to impose on anything but your time," she said. "We'll go shopping in Muggle London and pick something out."

"You don't have to buy my clothes," Ron said defensively. Even now that he was supporting himself, he was still very sensitive about money. He had more than enough to be getting along with, but a lifetime of being poor didn't just wander out of the brain overnight.

Hermione sensed his tension, and silently kicked herself. "I only meant that I don't expect you to spend any money on this. I'm asking you to do it, and so I'll pay for it all."

He looked slightly mollified. "But I don't know how to act, or what to do or anything. I'll probably only embarrass you."

"Of course you won't," said Hermione. "You'll be fine. Just stick close to me, and I'll give you some pointers on muggle behavior before we go."

Ron sighed, studying her face. He could tell she was anxious, but now her face held the slightest glimmer of hope. "Well," he said, "I suppose it might be an interesting way to spend a Saturday."

Hermione gasped in delight. "Oh, Ron, I knew you'd come through for me!" She threw her arms around him in a rib-cracking hug. "You'll never understand how much I appreciate this." She clasped her hands together, and sat down again. "Let's see, we'll need to schedule some time to go shopping, and, oh, I'll have to call Auntie Rania and have set an extra place at the table for you…" Ron watched her, grinning at the way she still ticked things off on her fingers. She might have been away for five years, but she hadn't changed at all.

"Oh, I've just got to Floo home and talk to Mum, she'll be so delighted. She's asked me about you, you know. Nearly every time I come for a visit, she asks if I've spoken with you," Hermione said, in one breath. "Oh, thank you, thank you for doing this." She stood again, brushing out the wrinkles in her trousers; working in the desert made it impractical for her to wear robes on a regular basis. She hugged him again, and headed for the fireplace. "I'll be at Mum's all week. Find a time when you can go shopping, and send me an owl." She smiled at him, her eyes bright. "Really, though, I appreciate this so much, Ron."

He could feel his ears reddening from all the attention. "It's nothing, Hermione. What are friends for?"

She smiled again. "I'll see tomorrow, then." And with a flash of emerald flame, she was gone.

* * *

Harry Potter couldn't breathe. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks, and his entire body shook. He gasped for air and clutched at his sides. A pair of narrowed eyes watched his struggle with contempt.

"It's not that bloody funny, Harry."

Ron had stopped by the Corner Pub for dinner, and was surprised to see Harry there, chatting animatedly with a woman Ron didn't immediately recognize. Harry motioned Ron over to join them, and Ron made his way across the crowed pub to the table. The woman turned out to be his sister, Ginny. She worked down the corridor at the Ministry from Harry, in the Department for Experimental Charms. As such, she was prone to come home sprouting antlers or with blue hair from time to time. This evening, however, she appeared completely normal.

Ron pulled up a chair, keen to hear any breaking news from Harry's office. Harry was, after all, the first to know all the news from the Quidditch world. He began telling them about the newest line of Cleansweep brooms, and how the makers of the line were paying some international Quidditch star one thousand galleons to endorse the new line. Ginny rolled her eyes, complaining about how sports stars were paid too much as it was, and that they didn't need to make endorsement money on the side. Harry and Ron exchanged bemused glances. To change the subject, Harry asked Ron how his day was, and Ron told them about Hermione's request. Ginny and Harry started sniggering about halfway through the story, and by the time he reached the end, Ginny looked completely gob-smacked, and Harry had tears on his cheeks.

"Seriously," Ron said crossly. "It's not that funny. So I'm going to a muggle wedding. Big deal. How bad could is be?"

Ginny looked at him. "How bad? Ron, you've never spent any time alone with muggles in your life. And now you're going to a wedding?"

Harry nodded. "Plus, you're going to be meeting Hermione's entire family."

"Yes."

"Pretending to be her boyfriend," added Ginny

"So?" said Ron.

"Well," Ginny said, with the air of explaining something very simple to a particularly stubborn child, "You're going to be spending an entire day with muggles, aren't you? And of course all of Hermione's family is going to want to know all about you, so they're going to be asking you lots of questions. You can't exactly tell them you're a wizard, can you? You're going to have to pretend that you have a muggle job. And you don't know anything about muggle careers."

"And," Harry added, "you don't know anything about the things muggles talk about, either. What happens if Hermione's uncle or someone asks you about your favourite football team or what kind of car you drive?"

Ron's face went ashen. "Oh. Merlin, what have I gotten myself into?"


	2. Shopping

Three days later, Ron found himself nursing a butterbeer in the Leaky Cauldron, waiting for Hermione to take him shopping for proper muggle clothes. His mum and dad had been ecstatic when he told them about the wedding, albeit for totally different reasons. Molly Weasley had a special place in her heart for Hermione; anyone who could get notoriously lazy Ron to study was worthy of considerable respect, in Molly's opinion. Ron suspected that his mother had her eye on Hermione as a potential daughter-in-law as well.

Arthur Weasley, on the other hand, would have been thrilled about it regardless of the company Ron was to keep. Muggles had always fascinated the Weasley patriarch. In fact, Ron was told in no uncertain terms by Molly to keep the time and location of the wedding and any prerequisite shopping trips secret from his father, so as not to encourage him to tag along uninvited.

For the tenth time that morning, Ron's mind flashed through a dozen disastrous scenarios that could happen on the upcoming weekend. Harry and Ginny's reaction to Hermione's request had only served to increase his trepidation. He took a deep swig from his bottle and tried to shove thoughts of accidental magic and Hermione's shocked relatives and disappointed face from his mind.

The door from the London side of the Leaky Cauldron creaked open, and the low rumble of traffic from the street beyond danced across the bar. Ron turned to find Hermione sweeping a long navy traveling cloak from her shoulders as she crossed the room.

"I never really noticed the chill in the air here until I moved to Egypt," she said, sitting next to him at the bar. She hugged him briefly, setting her cloak across the bartop. "Have you been here long?"

"No," replied Ron. "I only just popped over myself."

She beamed at him. He noticed that she was wearing a wool jumper, which while it was very pretty on her, looked a bit heavy for the current season. He reckoned that living in the desert for so long would make the English air feel just a bit chillier.

Hermione ordered a butterbeer from Tom, the old toothless barman. Ron watched her interact with Tom, and for the first time he saw a difference in her behaviour since their Hogwarts days. Rather than the slightly bossy girl who tried to know everything, he saw a confident, gracious woman who could make even old Tom feel welcome and interesting. He watched her laugh at a joke from Tom, and couldn't help but grin along.

"Shall we be off?" she asked, turning back to Ron.

"If you like," he replied, rising from his chair. He gathered her cloak from the counter as she handed Tom a few coins, and draped the cloak across her shoulders.

"Thank you," she said. Ron smiled at her.

They made their way out of the Leaky Cauldron, and Ron was immediately struck by the bustle of the London street. Cars, busses, and lorries rushed past them, rustling their cloaks. Voices and sounds seemed to echo from the street itself. Hermione began steering Ron up the street, and he gaped at the sheer volume of activity around him.

Eventually, they made their way to Harrods, although Hermione had to physically drag Ron most of the way. He stood gawking for nearly two full minutes at a multi-storey car park before Hermione noticed he'd fallen behind. The ride on the Underground was an adventure in itself, as Ron wanted to stop every few feet to explore the sites. She couldn't help but laugh at his child-like fascination with everything from the guards to the trains to the ticket collectors.

They made their way through Harrods, which was far less interesting to Ron. After all, racks of clothes were racks of clothes anywhere. Hermione perused rows of brightly colored shirts, pulling out several and thrusting them at Ron.

"What are you giving these to me for?" he asked.

"You have to try them on," she said distractedly, fishing through a throng of lavender button-downs.

"What, you mean put the clothes on? Here?"

Hermione looked up at him and rolled her eyes. "That's how you find out what to buy, Ron. Proper sizes and colors and all that."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "I've never had to try on clothes in a store in my life. Why can't we just buy them now, and transfigure them if we need?"

"Because, Ron," Hermione explained, very patiently, "Muggle clothes aren't made like the ones you buy in Diagon Alley. Those clothes are designed to alter. These are all made in different sizes."

"Why on earth is that?" said Ron. "Wouldn't it be easier to make the clothes all the same size, and let people adjust the sizes on their own?"

"If they could point a wand and alter a garment, I suppose it would," said Hermione. "But they can't. They'd have to pull out all the stitches out, and then measure everything to re-sew it. And if they made all the clothes the same size, a tiny person would be carrying around loads of extra fabric, wouldn't they?" She'd moved on from shirts and was digging though shelves of trousers. "What do you think, too short?" She held up a black pair for a moment. "Yes, too short. Must find something taller."

Ron watched her warily. "So you want me to try these on."

"Well, you can wait for the trousers if you like," Hermione answered, her voice trailing off as she wandered in the direction of a sign marked 'tall.'

Ron sighed, and set the pile of shirts down on a nearby table. He removed his hip-length day cloak and made to pull off his sweater when Hermione rushed over.

"What on earth are you doing?" she hissed.

"You told me to try these on," he said defensively. "I couldn't very well to that over my cloak and sweater, could I?"

To his utter amazement, she burst into laughter. "Oh, Ron," she said, wiping tears from her eyes, "there are rooms here called changing rooms, where you try clothes on. I didn't mean in the middle of the store."

Ron's face began to color. "You didn't tell me that."

"I know, I'm sorry," she said, her smile fading. "I just didn't realize that you'd never been to try on clothes before." She looked around, and spotted a sales clerk wandering around a nearby table. "Let me go and get you a room, so you can try these on properly."

She walked off, and Ron wanted to bang his head against the wall in frustration. Why had he agreed to do this? He couldn't even shop for clothes without making a huge error. How on earth was he supposed to make through an entire day?

Eventually, Hermione settled Ron into a changing room. He was not happy about having to put on these clothes and parade in front of her, but she kept telling him that the sooner he selected a proper outfit, the sooner they could leave. He decided quickly on a pair of well-cut black trousers. He hadn't expected the Muggle trousers to be as comfortable as the ones he wore to the office, but was pleasantly surprised at the soft fabric and clean fit. He tried on shirt after shirt, watching Hermione turn down nearly everything she'd selected. Finally, she approved of a shirt in deep blue, with a green and blue necktie. They gathered the garments and brought them to the clerk, who totaled their purchases. Ron made to pay for the clothes, but stopped rather suddenly when he realized that he hadn't changed any of his Galleons into muggle money.

Hermione paid for the clothes, and let him out of the store. They made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron, and stepped inside for a quick dinner. Hermione noticed that Ron was being uncharacteristically quiet, speaking only to order his food.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

He sighed. She looked so worried. He hated to disappoint her, and was afraid that the whole affair would turn out to be a gigantic disaster.

"Are you sure you want me to do this?" he asked her. "I mean, I'd understand if you want to cancel, because I made a complete prat of myself today. And that was only buying clothes." He sighed again. "I just don't want to embarrass you in front of your family, you know?

Hermione reached across the table and took his hand. "Look, Ron. I wouldn't have asked you to do this if I didn't think you could. I know it seems like we're just asking for trouble, but I know you can do this. And it's just for one day. Please."

Ron sighed again. "If you weren't such a good friend, I'd never have agreed to do this, you know?"

She smiled. "Oh, come on. You make it sound like I'm going to be pulling your ears off or something. You get to spend the day in my sparkling company. How bad could it possibly be?"

He grinned in spite of himself. "Famous last words."

* * *

**A/N: **I appologize for the delay in posting this chapter! I write at work, and our internet connection has been down. This chapter didn't want to be written, so it might be a little stilted, but things will get better, I promise. Thank you for reading and reviewing!

RM


	3. On the road

**A/N:** This chapter is a bit early, and was supposed to get all the way to the site of the wedding. Unfortunately, it started to get a little long, so I decided to break it up. Thank you to everyone that's read and/or reviewed! The next chapter might be up Thursday, but if not, then definately by next Tuesday.  
RM

* * *

If time flies when one is having fun, then it positively races when one is in abject fear, or so it appeared to Ron. For while he recovered from the embarrassment of the shopping trip, his trepidation about the wedding grew by the hour. Hermione promised him that his fears were all unfounded, but he still doubted his ability to pull off the entire caper. His father had been peppering him with helpful information for days, but this only made Ron more nervous. Was he honestly expected to know how to rewire a gear box or repair an automobile engine at a moment's notice?

Before he knew it, it was Saturday morning. Hermione insisted that they would travel to and from the wedding on the same day, thus dramatically shortening the time Ron would be spending with her relatives. Ron dragged himself out of bed at half seven, having barely slept, and headed to the bathroom. He showered and shaved, and went back to his room to dress. The clothes from Harrods hung neatly in the wardrobe, and he pulled them out, careful not to snag the cuffs on the hinges. The shirt was soft, and he liked the way he looked in it, and the trousers were quite comfortable, considering. He surveyed his reflection for a moment, and decided that he didn't look half bad in muggle clothes.

Even though he'd be home later that evening, he packed a bag with proper clothes- his navy trousers, a hand-knit jumper from his mother and a cloak. He figured that the return trip would be much easier in clothes he was used to wearing. He slipped his wand into a pocket of his cloak and shut his rucksack. He felt distinctly uncomfortable not having his wand on him, but acknowledged that by leaving it in the bag, he reduced his chances of accidentally using it out of habit.

Hermione arrived promptly at nine, and Ron met her in the kitchen. She looked positively stunning in a creamy ivory satin skirt and lavender cardigan set.

"Wow," said Ron. "You look amazing."

"Thank you," she replied, flushing. "You don't look half bad yourself. Shall we go, then?"

"Sure," said Ron, grabbing his bag. "How are we getting there, anyway?

"By car," said Hermione. "My parents rode down with Auntie Rania, so they left me their car. We'll just take the motorway."

Ron looked at her. "You know how to drive?" he asked.

"Of course," she said. "One of the few things my parents insisted on teaching me how to do." She smiled. "Besides, it'll be a good way for me to go over things you need to know."

Ron's eyes grew wide. "How long will this drive take?

"About an hour," said Hermione.

Ron's face went pale.

"But it won't be all bad," she said. "Just trust me."

"If you say so," he said. "Let's be off, then. Where is the car?"

"Actually, it's parked outside the Leaky Cauldron," said Hermione. "I didn't reckon there'd be much parking around here, so I just Apparated over from there. We can just pop back over to the Leaky Cauldron, and head out from there."

"Sounds good," said Ron, although his voice did not.

She smiled at him. "Relax, Ron. You'll be fine, I promise. And I really appreciate you doing this for me." She reached over and hugged him briefly, and he was met with a whisper of lilac and jasmine from her perfume. He felt something odd stir inside his belly, but put it down to nerves.

"It's nothing," he muttered, reddening. She smiled at him and Disapperated with a pop.

They arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, and headed out of the London door. Hermione led the way to a dark-coloured, late-model sedan. She pushed a button and the lights blinked, and Ron heard a chirruping noise.

"I thought you said no magic," he said to her.

"It's not magic, Ron. This little button," she showed him a small, hard plastic square with tiny buttons on it, "unlocks the doors to the car. This one," she pushed another one, and the boot flew up, "opens up the boot. Go ahead; set your bag in there."

Ron looked at her quizzically, and walked to the rear of the car. A metal door was dangling in midair in front of him. He gingerly pushed it upwards, and gaped as he saw a huge empty space in front of him.

"That's the boot. It's for storing things," said Hermione. "Put your bag in, we've got to get a move on."

Ron set his bag next to a tote of Hermione's and got into the car. He watched enraptured as she adjusted the automatic mirrors and switched on the engine. She noticed his attention, and laughed.

"Come on, Ron, I know you've seen a car before," she said. "Your father had one, remember?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't like this one at all," replied Ron. "It didn't have buttons that opened secret doors or things like that. And you didn't have to stick anything in it to make it go."

Hermione laughed again, and turned her attention back to the road. She pulled her wand from her handbag and muttered a complicated-sounding incantation. A map appeared in the air between them, with the route they were to take marked with tiny arrows. She studied it for a moment, and then eased the car into the traffic flow. They weren't five minutes into the trip before Hermione started launching information at Ron.

"Now, the wedding's in Newick, at the Newick Park Hotel. It's apparently very private and exclusive. Most of my family lives in East Sussex now, so it's not a far journey for them. They wanted to be close to the coast."

"The coast?" said Ron, interested. "Can we go there, then?"

"I don't think we'll have time," said Hermione. "Anyway, my entire family is staying at the hotel, but we'll come back to London tonight, so we needn't worry about that."

Ron watched the other cars, fascinated. He turned back to Hermione. "This really is brilliant, you know that? I mean, look at them. It's fantastic."

She laughed. "I suppose it is pretty interesting."

"Pretty interesting?" Ron said, amazed. "Hermione, it's bloody brilliant! It's moving with the flip of a switch, and without magic. How on earth did they come up with it?"

Hermione launched into a detailed explanation of the invention of the combustion engine, and Ron felt his good mood evaporate. How in the name of Merlin was he supposed to remember all this?"

"But I don't think anyone in the family will expect you to know everything about automobiles, anyway. It's not something that everyone is intimately familiar with, is it?"

"Is it?" asked Ron, terrified.

"No, it's not," Hermione said patiently. "Generally, most muggles know how to start their cars, and how to drive them, and that's about the extent of it. For problems, they take their cars to a mechanic."

Ron sighed in relief. One less thing he had to know about.

"Anyway," Hermione continued, "I reckon it'll be easier to tell everyone that you live in America as well, seeing as they all think I live there. It might even be easier to pretend that you've lived there for quite some time, to avoid nasty questions about your schooling."

Ron looked at her. "Are questions like that bound to come up?"

"Oh, yes," said Hermione. "My family will want to know all about you, and that includes your schooling."

Ron paled visibly.

"Oh, don't worry so much. We'll just say you went to primary school in Devon, and secondary school in Boston, Massachusetts. That's where they think I live. I've actually been there on assignment a few times, it's a lovely city." Hermione paused to consult her map again. She turned onto a motorway under a signpost that read A23 in large letters. "You can easily have lived there for years. I know I could."

Ron took a deep breath. "Okay, born in Devon, went to primary school there, moved to Boston. I think I can handle that much."

Hermione smiled. "I told you it wouldn't be that hard. Open the glove box, there should be some notes in there for you."

Ron stared blankly at her, and she sighed. "Pull up that little handle in front of you there," she said, pointing.

He opened it, and found yet another secret compartment. This one was filled with papers. He pulled them out, and couldn't help but laugh. Hermione had written notes for him; about Boston and life in America, as well as a few sheets on things her family enjoyed doing. He flipped through pages about sites in and around Boston, and was surprised to find himself wanted to actually go there and see them in person.

"I have in there some information about one of the universities there, called Harvard. It's a very prestigious muggle school, so we can say that you attended there. Your work now is rather close to what muggles call a solicitor; only over there they call them lawyers exclusively. Harvard has a school for lawyers, so we can say you went there." Hermione took a deep breath. "I also included some nice items about dates we've been on, things like that. You can look over them if you like; it'll only earn you points with my family."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "You mean, because I'm your boyfriend?"

"Well, yes," replied Hermione, coloring slightly. "Anyway, as long as they think you've been living abroad for some time, they won't question anything odd you might do. They'll just chalk it up to being something they do in America. So don't worry so much."

Ron continued to flip through the papers, pausing every now and again as something caught his fancy. He glanced up occasionally as Hermione steered the car, turning off the A23 after a while and heading in a different direction. He read the list of dates they'd supposedly been on, and looked over the brochures from Harvard. It sounded like a swotty place, but this was Hermione's show.

Hermione, for her part, sang softly along with the radio as she drove. True, the drive was an excellent opportunity for Ron to study, but in reality, she selected to drive because it helped her calm down. Since the day her father took her to an empty car park to practice she'd been in love with driving. It was one of the few muggle things that she really enjoyed. She'd never been good at flying, and Apparating only worked for short distances. Driving was her preferred means of long-distance transportation.

She stole a few glances at Ron as he studied her notes. He had a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and would occasionally mumble something incoherent about the notes. She couldn't help but smile as she watched him, even though her nerves were jangling about inside her like spilt marbles. She kept telling Ron that things would be alright, even though she knew she was only saying it to try and convince herself. Her luck, something would cause him to slip and talk about Quidditch, or Charms or Azkaban. She just prayed that they could last the one afternoon without everything falling apart.


	4. Meeting the Parents

**A/N: **I've been meaning to do a disclaimer on this story for ages, but have kept forgetting. So here we go: I'm not JKR. I do not claim to be JKR. The characters of the story are based on her intellectual property, and the story is based on the intellectual property of Elizabeth Young, author of the book Asking for Trouble. I'm just putting things together, folks.

I know everyone's waiting with bated breath for the actual wedding, but you know I have to draw everything out. So here we go!

RM

* * *

Eventually, Hermione steered the car onto a winding drive, and the Newick Park Hotel came into view. Ron was immediately struck by how tranquil it appeared. It was a white stone building, three stories in height with two rounded parlors and several lovely trellises. The sprawling lawns were lush and green, and the trellises were decked in ivy. Hermione parked the car, looking awed at the surroundings.

"Well," she said, turning to Ron, "You can't fault Sasha for taste. This place is really lovely."

"It's nice, yeah," said Ron, looking back out the window.

"Are you ready, then?" asked Hermione.

Ron took a deep breath. "As ready as I can be, I expect," he said, smiling at her.

She nodded, taking a deep breath before opening the car door. He followed suit, and let his door fall shut again with a click. Hermione opened the boot to retrieve their bags, and Ron shut it for her. He noticed for the first time that her hands were shaking slightly. He put a hand on her arm, and gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. She nodded again, and led him up to the front door.

If the lawn and exterior of the house belayed an air of tranquility, the inside was in a state of utter chaos. The moment the door opened, dozens of sounds assailed their ears. Ron could pick out several loud voices shouting, someone crying, high-pitched laughter, and at least one musician warming up some kind of instrument. Everywhere he looked, people were scurrying about, doing one thing or another. A woman with a silver platter filled with cards rushed past, nearly knocking over a small, balding man with a camera. Several small children played noisily on the hearth rug, under the watchful eye of a grandmotherly woman in a lavender cardigan.

Hermione led him over to a small knot of people standing near a large picture window. The group consisted of three women and two men, all dressed to the nines and engrossed in conversation.

"Hello, all," called Hermione as they approached.

The taller of the two men turned and grinned broadly. "Hello, love," he said, drawing Hermione into a hug. "Did the car give you any trouble?"

"No, none at all," she said. She turned to the group at large. "I'd like to introduce you to Ron Weasley." She extracted herself from her father's embrace. "This is Warren Granger, my father."

Warren extended a hand, which Ron shook. "Pleased to meet you, sir. You have a lovely daughter."

Warren eyed Ron rather critically. Ron paled visibly under the scrutiny.

"This," continued Hermione, "is Alice, my mother."

Mrs. Granger smiled benignly at Ron, and he was struck at how much Hermione resembled her mother. "It's lovely to meet you, dear. We've heard so much about you."

Ron smiled weakly at her. He imagined that everything the Grangers knew about him came from tales from their Hogwarts days, and could only hope that they'd been vague with the family with details about him, as any information they'd given out could potentially blow his cover.

Hermione hugged her mother briefly, and continued with the introductions. "These are my grandparents Hillman, my mother's parents," she said indicating to the other man and the woman to his right. Mr. Hillman was tall and distinguished, with silver hair and a moustache. Mrs. Hillman was small, and had the same frame and facial shape as Hermione and her mother. Mr. Hillman shook Ron's hand, and Mrs. Hillman nodded at him.

"And this is Grandmother Granger, my father's mother," concluded Hermione, inclining her head toward the last woman in the group. The elder Mrs. Granger was small and wizened, with hard eyes and wiry silver hair. She gave Ron a very critical look, and turned her attention back to Hermione.

"So you've finally found yourself a boyfriend, have you?" she said.

"Mother," said Mr. Granger warningly. "Be civil, please."

"Why should I be?" snapped Grandmother Granger. "She's 23 now, and not married. When I was her age, I was married with baby. Unmarried women at that age in my day were spinsters, left alone for the rest of their lives. Unnatural, it is, to still be alone at 23."

Ron struggled not to laugh at the myriad of expressions that crossed Hermione's face at her grandmother's tirade. Fortunately, Mr. Hillman noticed the tension and mercifully changed the subject.

"So, how did you meet our Hermione?" he asked Ron.

"Well," said Ron, taking a moment to mentally review the notes from the car, "We met in Boston. My family moved there years ago from Devon, and I've lived there ever since. Hermione was a friend of a friend, so to speak. We were both in school at the time."

Hermione beamed at him. "Ron went to Harvard. He's a lawyer."

"Did he," said Mr. Hillman. "Well, it's no Oxford, but I suppose it is respectable enough."

Ron blanched for a moment, before Hermione forced a laugh and he realized that Mr. Hillman had been joking.

The discussion turned to Hermione's work, and Ron let his attention wander to the children playing by the fireplace. Three little boys, ranging in age from six to ten, were playing with small model cars, and a pigtailed girl of no more than five brushed the hair of a doll nearby. The boys seemed content to crash the cars into each other, and Ron couldn't help but smile at them. Little boys, it seemed, universally loved to crash things. His nephews all loved to crash their toy boats and carriages into each other, while his nieces all seemed quite content to play with their dolls, like the little girl on the rug.

One of the older boys became restless, and started casting around the room for another activity to occupy him. Ron instantly recognized the look on his face, having seen it so often on the faces of his nephews, just before they began terrorizing their younger siblings. He watched as the boy fixed his gaze on the little girl and her doll. Before Ron could say or do anything, the boy jumped to his feet and snatched the doll from the girl, dangling it over her head. She stared at her empty hands for a moment, shocked, and stood up pouting. The boy laughed and began swinging the doll over his head. He looked around the room, but no one was paying attention to the exchange. His face cracked into an evil grin, and he took off in the direction of the fireplace. The little girl ran after him, but from the looks of it, she wasn't going to catch up.

Ron cast desperately around the room, praying that someone would notice before the doll met an unpleasant end in the fireplace, which would surely end in one very upset little girl, but none of the adults had noticed the scuffle. Hermione and her parents were still deeply engrossed in conversation, and Ron didn't want to interrupt them. He looked back at the boy, who was steps away from the fireplace, and without thinking, extended his hand and muttered "_Accio_!" The doll flew out of the boy's hand in mid-swing and soared across the room into Ron's outstretched hand.

The room fell silent in an instant, and Ron immediately began kicking himself. What on earth did he summon the doll for? He cursed himself for not letting the little boy throw the doll in the fireplace. He didn't have to get involved, but his uncle instincts had kicked in and forced him to intervene. Hermione looked at him with fear in her eyes, but before either of them could speak, a woman in a tangerine pantsuit dashed across the room. She scooped up the little girl, who was still crying but appeared to be just as confused as the doll thrower.

"Martin, you naughty boy," she scolded at the boy, while rocking the little girl. "Throwing your sister's doll around like that. How many times have I told you not to swing things around indoors? You nearly hit that man." Martin lowered his face in shame, but still bore a distinctly puzzled expression. "You march right over and apologize this instant."

Martin shuffled over to Ron and muttered an apology. Ron handed him the doll, and Martin carried it back over to his mother and sister. The little girl squealed in delight and hugged the doll tightly to her chest. The woman took Martin by the hand and led him from the room.

Soft chuckles filled the air as they left the room, and Mr. Hillman clapped Ron on the back. "Amazing reflexes, young man. You seemed to know right where the doll was going to go."

"Yes, well," began Ron, his face coloring.

"Ron is from a large family," interrupted Hermione. "Lots of children around. I'm sure he's used to flying toys and the like."

"Ah, yes," said Mr. Granger. "You're one of seven children, correct?"

The conversation steered toward Ron's family, and he and Hermione tactfully answered questions as vaguely as they possibly could. Eventually, Mr. and Mrs. Hillman took their leave, citing a desire to stroll around the grounds before the ceremony. Mr. Granger left to escort his mother to her room for a bit of a rest, and Mrs. Granger was called away to assist her sister with something. Before leaving, she pulled a key from her handbag and handed it to Hermione.

"For your hotel room, dear," she said.

"But we're not staying the night," Hermione said, trying to hand the key back to her mother.

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Granger. "Rania held it for you, in case you should decide not to drive back tonight after the reception. Besides, you can use it now for a bit of a lie-down, or to freshen up." She smiled sweetly at Ron. "It was so lovely to finally meet you, dear." She kissed Hermione's cheek and left the room.

Hermione sighed. "Well, that was…"

"Stressful," said Ron. "I'm sorry. I knew something like that would happen."

"No," said Hermione, looking surprised. "Actually, it was wonderful the way you caught that doll."

"Caught it?" Ron asked. "Hermione, I used a summoning charm."

"Well, I know that, and you know that," she said. "But to everyone else, it looked like the doll just slipped out of Martin's hands and flew across the room. It didn't look at all like magic, I promise."

"Are you sure?" said Ron.

Hermione smiled at him. "Positive." She looked around the room again. "I suppose we could head up to the room, then. I mean," she said, blushing slightly, "if you want."

"Couldn't hurt," said Ron, "to keep me away from the muggles." He grinned at her.

Hermione laughed. "Oh, I don't know. You're doing fine so far. But no more summoning charms, okay?"

"Deal," he said, and picked up their bags. Hermione led the way out of the parlor and up a sweeping staircase. "What room are we looking for?" he asked.

"The Tulip Room," she said, looking up and down the landing. "It's this way, I think."

They wandered down the plush hallway, until they found the door to the Tulip Room. Ron's jaw dropped when he entered it. The first thing that caught his attention was the gigantic four-post bed in the centre of the room. The walls were painted a soft creamy colour, and the linens and bedclothes were richly coloured and looked extremely soft. Hermione strode across the room, and gave a pleasant little sigh as she sank onto the bed. Ron dropped the bags next to the door and walked over to the large window. Drawing back the sash, he looked out on the extensive grounds and gardens of the estate.

"Wow," he said softly. He turned back to Hermione. "This place is bloody fantastic, you know?"

"Yes, I agree wholeheartedly," said Hermione, rolling over on the bed. "Come feel this bed, Ron. It's the best bed I've ever felt in my life."

Ron joined Hermione on the bed, sinking into the soft fabric. "Wow," he said again. "I mean, this is… wow."

Hermione giggled. "My sentiments exactly." She wiggled around for a moment, feeling the softness against her skin. Ron watched her, struck again by her beauty. Her bronzed skin seemed to glow against the deep burgundy of the bedclothes. Her hair was fanned out around her head, her eyes were closed and she was smiling broadly. Ron reached out a hand to touch her face, before realizing what he was doing. He drew his hand back quickly, giving himself a mental shake. This was Hermione, after all. His other best mate. Yes, she was a beautiful woman, but it was still Hermione. Yes, she was writhing around on a lush bed, looking like something from a fantasy, but it was Hermione. That was it, he thought. It was just being in this room, being at an elegant hotel, being in a bed that was causing him to have inappropriate thoughts about his best mate. He stood up quickly, and Hermione opened her eyes.

"Where are you going?" she asked, sitting up in the bed.

"Um, to use the toilet," he said. He jerked a thumb in the direction of the toilet. "Private bathrooms, you know."

"Oh, alright," said Hermione. She let her head fall back against the stack of pillows.

Ron closed the door behind him, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He had to get a grip on himself. This day was going to be enough of a challenge without having randy thoughts about Hermione. He took a few deep breaths, and looked out the window adjacent to the bath. The stunning gardens wound out for about a mile in every direction, filled with azaleas and daffodils, and dotted with Royal ferns. The place really was quite stunning, he though. As he left the toilet, however, a little voice in the back of his mind whispered that the gardens had nothing on his companion.


	5. Walking Down the Aisle

Ron and Hermione made their way out to the gardens with half and hour to spare before the ceremony. Ron looked with interest at a nearby fern bush, as he thought he saw fairy lights twinkling inside it. Hermione noticed and pointed at a long, green cord that snaked away from the bush and into a small silver box on a peg.

"They're electric, see?" she said, holding up a leaf. Ron peered into the bush and saw that the lights, far from being held by actual fairies as was the custom at special Wizarding events, were attached to the cord, which was wound throughout the entire bush. Ron stepped back as Hermione let the leaf fall back into place.

"Amazing," he muttered, as she steered him along the garden path. All of the ferns lining the path were twinkling in the same manner. A gentle breeze drifted across the lawn, causing the ferns to sway gently. He had to admit that with the breeze, the effect looked remarkably similar to the real thing.

They walked to the end of the path and rounded an ivy-bedecked trellis. A large canopy had been erected, covering an area roughly the size of a Quidditch pitch. Beneath the canopy, white chairs stood neatly in rows, marked off by green ribbons. A white aisle ran down the length of the tent, ending in an elaborate archway covered in ivy and hydrangeas. Many of the chairs were already full, and a handful of people were milling about near the trellis, which Ron guessed marked the back of the canopy.

Hermione looked nervously around the area, scouting for her parents. She hadn't yet seen them, and assumed that they'd want her to sit with them. She glanced at Ron, and had to fight to keep from laughing out loud. He was looking at his surroundings with an expression that alternated from amused to confused depending on where his gaze landed. She steered him in the direction of the ushers, hoping that once they were seated she could relax for a minute.

Her cousin Andrew, Sasha's brother, was standing sentry near the back of the canopy. She caught his eye, and he smiled at her.

"Guarding the bride," he said, indicating over his shoulder. "She'd have my head if Tartan saw her before the ceremony." He looked quickly over his shoulder, and jogged over to Hermione. "You look good," he said, kissing her cheek.

"So do you," Hermione replied, eyeing his waistcoat and trousers. "Very posh."

"Yeah, that's what they tell me," said Andrew. He turned to Ron and extended a hand. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

"My apologies," said Hermione, as Ron shook Andrew's hand. "Andrew Tweedy, this is Ron Weasley. He's from Devon, and now lives in Boston. Ron, this is Andrew, my cousin, and brother of the bride. When not standing guard over his sister, he plays football professionally and woos thousands of women around the globe."

Andrew grinned. "I wouldn't say thousands. Hundreds, maybe." He turned to Ron. "So you're our Hermione's gentleman friend, are you? Good luck with her. Stubborn as a mule, that one."

Hermione swatted at Andrew's arm. "Shut it, you prat. Go and guard your sister. And give her my love." Andrew offered them a mock salute and jogged back over to his post. She rolled her eyes at Ron, and led him back to the aisle.

"Friend of the bride, or the groom?" asked the usher, a tall raven-haired man with a clipped Indian accent.

"Family of the bride," replied Hermione. Ron watched helplessly as the usher offered Hermione an arm, and she took it and started down the aisle. Was he supposed to wait for an escort as well? The other ushers looked at him expectantly.

"Are you with the lady in lavender?" asked the one nearest to Ron.

"What? Yes, I am," said Ron.

"Well, go on then; else she'll be seated without you."

Ron nodded at him, and hurried down the aisle. He caught up with Hermione and her escort as he steered her down the second row of chairs from the front of the canopy. The usher gave Ron a curt nod, and headed back up the aisle to seat the next set of guests. Hermione moved down to the very end of the row, and looked back at him.

"Come and sit on my other side, Ron. Your legs are longer than mine are," she said, pointing to the chair at the end of the row. Ron walked carefully down the row and took his seat. Hermione sat daintily next to him.

"I figured you'd be more comfortable with a bit more leg room," she said. She looked around them, and lowered her voice. "Besides, now you can ask as many questions as you want and there's no one beside you to overhear."

Ron nodded. "Your cousin is marrying a man named Tartan?"

"What?" asked Hermione. "Oh, no, that's just what Andrew calls him because he's Irish. His name's Cieran McDougal. I imagine he and all his groomsmen are wearing kilts."

"Really? They do that at Muggle weddings?" asked Ron.

"Sometimes," said Hermione, "If the bride or groom happens to have a family tartan that they want to show off."

"Interesting," said Ron, looking around. "So what happens now?"

"Well," said Hermione, "We wait for the ceremony to start. We've still got ten minutes or so until then. It'll start with a processional. Sasha and Cieran's grandparents and parents will come in first, then the bridesmaids, if she has any."

"Bridesmaids? Like someone who cleans up after her?"

"No, Ron," said Hermione with a smile. "'Maid' short for 'maiden.' Attendants, really. Dating back to times in history when the brides were at risk for kidnapping on their wedding days, so they were accompanied by other maidens to protect and guard them. It's symbolic only, now."

"Huh," said Ron, nodding absently. He watched the nattily dressed ushers escort more people to various chairs around the room. "Is there assigned seating or something?" he asked, turning back to Hermione.

"What? No," she said. "Not really, anyway. Generally speaking, the families of both parties sit closest. Guests and family of the bride are usually seated on the right side, and guests and family of the groom are seated on the left. After the bridesmaids, there is usually a flower girl who scatters flower petals in the path of the bride."

"Why on earth do they do that?" asked Ron.

"Actually, I've no idea," said Hermione. "I suppose just for artistic purposes or something. Sometimes, there's also a little boy called a ring bearer who carries the wedding rings up on a silk pillow."

"A silk pillow?" Ron asked, skeptically.

"Yes," said Hermione. "Don't really know why they do that one, either, but there you go. Anyway, after all is done, the bride is escorted down the aisle by her father. He presents her to the groom. Then they exchange vows and rings, things like that, and then they're married. Simple, really."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Not simple, Hermione. Half the stuff you just told me about doesn't make any sense. Come on, Hermione – flower petals on the ground? Rings on a silk pillow?"

"Well, they can't exactly invoke the elements in a muggle wedding, as they don't tend to believe in such things. And the trappings may be different, Ron, but the event is basically the same."

Ron opened his mouth to argue, but a swell of music from a string octet on the left-hand side of the altar stopped the words in his mouth. Hermione looked around, and gave a small wave to her parents, who were being seated in the row alongside Ron and Hermione. Alice Granger gave the pair a small wave in return. They all turned their attention to the rear of the canopy, where an impeccably dressed old lady was being escorted down the aisle. Not far behind her, Ron recognized Mr. and Mrs. Hillman, Hermione's grandparents. Following them were the parents of the groom. Mr. McDougal was wearing a kilt, and escorting a tall, regal-looking woman in a navy dress with a tartan sash.

Hermione's cousin Andrew came next, escorting his mother. Mrs. Tweedy looked remarkably like Alice Granger – Ron considered the possibility that they were twins as she passed. The music changed, and three girls lock-stepped down the aisle on the arms of three gentlemen in kilts. The men looked rather dashing in their tartan, but the girls…

"Hermione," whispered Ron as the first pair passed their row, "What on earth are they dressed like that for?"

The girls were all wearing what looked like drapes in a deep green colour. The dressed were horribly frilly and puffy, with full skirts that dragged the ground when they walked and threatened to trip anyone that came within three feet of each girl. Their escorts even had to extend their arms as far away from their bodies as was humanly possible in order to accompany the girls without risking their safety as well.

Hermione stifled a giggle. "Well, Sasha picked out the dresses. Who knows why, but Muggle brides do seem to lose every ounce of fashion sense they have when selecting bridesmaid dresses." She watched the last pair struggle down the aisle – the poor groomsman stepped on the maid's skirt at least ten times before they reached the altar. "Although these seem to be particularly horrendous."

Ron couldn't agree more. He watched the last green-draped girl take her place at the front of the canopy. "Why are they standing up there? Are they all getting married as well?"

"No," said Hermione, as a pint-sized green blob floated past, chucking rose petals enthusiastically from a basket. "All the attendants stand at the altar with the bride and groom. Again, I think it has something to do with protecting them from people who would try to kidnap or kill them on their wedding day."

_Muggles are so strange,_ thought Ron. _Killing someone on their wedding day? And why on earth would you stand up there if you weren't getting married?_


	6. Ron's Outburst

Hermione's eyes brimmed with tears as the maid of honor adjusted the full train of Sasha's gown. Sasha and Ian positively beamed at each other, looking happier than Hermione could have imagined. Despite the slightly strained relationship between their mothers, Hermione and Sasha were good friends. Playmates as young children, the girls had developed a special relationship that they both treasured, as neither had any sisters. They had, over the years, grown apart, but still exchanged letters and phone calls. Hermione always felt guilty for lying to Sasha about her occupation and schooling, but she knew it couldn't be helped.

Sasha's letters had taken on a new tone entirely when she met Ian in college. Hermione could instantly tell the difference in her cousin. Sasha went from being shy and more than a little hard on herself to being confident and secure, and Hermione knew that Ian had brought those traits out in Sasha. Secretly, Hermione had been wildly jealous of their relationship. After hearing and reading about the wonderful changes in Sasha's life, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if she would ever find someone to evoke that sense of security and happiness in her.

As the vicar began the readings, Hermione glanced over at the attractive man sitting beside her. _How lucky I am,_ she thought, _to have a friend like Ron who would do this for me. _She knew that he was uncomfortable and nervous, and it only made his agreement to help her mean more. He looked over at her and smiled slightly, making Hermione's heart swell in gratitude. Not many men would willingly walk into a totally unfamiliar situation full of strangers and chances to completely humiliate themselves. Ron truly was one in a million.

Hermione dabbed the tears from her eyes as Sasha and Ian exchanged their vows. Would she ever have the chance to stand in front of her friends and family and declare her intent to love and cherish one man for the rest of her life? She knew that any wedding she had would end up being a disaster. There was no way her Muggle family and her wizarding friends could come together, even for one afternoon. Her own wedding would force her to choose between her family and the world that she'd given up so much to protect. Tears welled in her eyes again.

Ron shifted in his seat beside her, and suddenly there was a warm weight across her shoulders. She glanced sideways and realised that Ron had put his arm around her. He looked at her with concern in his eyes. She felt an odd swooping in her stomach at the care her was showing. She patted his leg softly and settled back against his shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against her back. He reached across and took her hand.

Hermione felt a jolt when his fingers closed on hers. Her skin tingled as he absentmindedly stoked her arm. She started to pull away, confused at the rush of emotions in her head. This was Ron, her dear friend, and here she was getting all jumpy just because he was touching her. She took a deep breath. No, she wasn't getting jumpy because of Ron. She was jumpy because of the circumstances. Anyone else in her position would have been jumpy, too. She wasn't getting worked up because of Ron.

Was she?

The music swelled loudly and Hermione looked up in time to Sasha and Ian kiss. Hermione stood, pulling Ron up with her, as the happy couple sailed back up the aisle, followed by the various attendants.

"What a beautiful ceremony," Alice Granger said, turning to her daughter. Hermione nodded, eager to engage her mind in thoughts not involving the man beside her.

"Where's the reception?" she asked.

"In the main ballroom," her mother replied, as the crowds of people began making their way up the aisles and toward the hotel.

"Lovely," said Hermione, turning her attention back to Ron, who was engrossed in the mechanics of his folding chair. The look of incredulity on his face made her smile.

"This is amazing," he muttered, opening and closing the chair slowly.

"Yes, it's quite fascinating," she replied. "But it's time for the reception."

"What's a reception?" he asked, opening the chair again and placing it back in its row.

"It's a party," Hermione said, leading him back up the path. "For the newlyweds. With toasts and dancing and food…"

"Food?" said Ron, eagerly. "Lead the way!"

* * *

Hermione lowered her now-empty wineglass and surveyed her surroundings. The reception in the ballroom at the hotel was proving to be just as spectacular as the ceremony in the garden. Her Auntie Rania was in her glory, beaming and sighing, flitting around the room with theatrical tears in her eyes. Hermione's uncle had steadily been plying his wife with sherry, hoping to calm her; however, her inebriety seemed only to increase the volume in which she spoke of the fabulousness of the day. Having now finished her third glass of wine, Hermione knew that she should switch to water, but her nerves were so jangled that the wine was the only thing keeping her from hyperventilating. The ceremony had passed without incident, but the reception was scheduled to last three hours, and Hermione knew that at some point someone would ask about Ron. She shot him an encouraging smile, which he returned weakly.

In all fairness, Ron had been performing admirably. Hermione knew that she was being ridiculous, and that everything was fine at the moment. But knowing that did little to calm her, or to shake the feeling of foreboding that danced in the back of her mind.

A nattily dressed waiter placed a plate in front of her, and she relaxed a little. At least the meal would keep her various relations occupied for a while. Ron raised his eyebrows at her as the waiter lifted the silver warming lid, and Hermione tried not to laugh. The meal consisted of five stalks of asparagus, three carrots, a paper-thin piece of beef with some kind of chutney dabbed on the top, and a small, elegantly swirled serving of mashed potatoes.

"Is this all?" Ron asked, incredulous.

"Yes, I'm afraid it is," replied Hermione. "For some reason, fancy food like this comes in really small portions."

"I'll say," said Ron, probing the carrots with his fork.

"Look, we'll get something on the way back to London," Hermione whispered. "Just pretend to like it, okay?"

Ron shot her a dubious look, but sighed and turned his attention to his plate. Hermione signaled for the waiter to refill her wineglass. Her mother looked reproachfully at her, but Hermione just smiled and forked a piece of carrot.

* * *

By the time the cake plates were cleared, Ron was feeling slightly better about the evening. He'd even managed to contribute to a conversation at one point, when the topic turned to travel. One of Hermione's cousins was planning a trip to Egypt, and asked if anyone had ever been there. Ron visibly perked at this, and said that he had, as a teen. More questions on Egypt followed, and while Ron found it a little difficult to omit the parts about curse-breakers and ancient wizards, he felt afterward that he'd held his own in the conversation, and managed not to embarrass himself or Hermione.

The dance band in the corner of the room switched to playing faster pieces, and people started milling toward the parquet dance floor. Hermione's cousin stepped out with her new husband, and Ron watched them for a moment. Both Sasha and Ian looked so happy, swirling madly around the dance floor. Ron found himself wondering if he would ever find a woman that would look at him the way Sasha was looking at Ian, the way his mother still looked at his father when she thought no one was watching. Suddenly, he felt rather lonely.

Hermione shifted in her chair, and Ron's trepidation tiptoed back across his brain. Did she expect him to dance with her? He hadn't had an occasion to dance since his Hogwarts days, and he didn't even know if Muggle dancing and wizard dancing were the same thing. He turned back to the dance floor, hoping that he could learn Muggle dancing by watching, and in under a minute.

Before he could make up his mind (or learn the waltz) Hermione's aunt sank heavily into a chair across the table. Ron could tell from the flush of her cheeks that she was more than a little tipsy.

"What a day!" she exclaimed, swaying slightly in her chair. "Have you ever seen such a beautiful bride?"

"No, Auntie Rania," Hermione replied, smiling. "Sasha does look lovely."

"Of course she does!" Rania replied, a little too loudly. "She's a lovely girl, takes after me. Good thing, too," she said, leaning toward them conspiratorially. "Albert's mother looks like a transvestite in that dress."

Hermione and her mother exchanged glances, but Ron had no idea what Rania was on about, and decided that the best course of action in the situation was to take a drink from his glass. Muggle wine was horrible, but for the moment, it was the only thing within his reach.

Rania sat back up, swaying again. "And our Hermione," she said, waving a hand in Hermione's direction. "We're so glad you could make it today. And you even brought a date! Lovely!" She turned to Ron. "She's usually got her nose stuck in a book or something," she said, attempting to playfully pat Ron on the arm, but missing, nearly knocking over Ron's glass in the process. "We were beginning to think that she'd never find a man."

Ron raised his eyebrows, glancing in Hermione's direction. She had a fake smile plastered across her face, but he could tell that she was upset by her aunt's behavior.

"But here you are," continued Rania, oblivious to the glares of the rest of the table. "And you're not a bad-looking fellow, are you? And they tell me you're a lawyer, which is just lovely!" She paused, drinking deeply from her glass. As she set it back on the table, Ron noticed Hermione's mother surreptitiously sliding the glass out of her sister's reach.

"I always felt so bad for dear Alice," Rania continued. "I mean, she was a really lovely girl, and then there was Hermione. Unfortunate, that. But she's filled out quite nicely in the past few years, don't you think?" She looked up a Ron blearily. "Well, of course you do," she said, before he could reply. "You are seeing her, after all."

"Rania, dear," said Alice, with a painfully patient voice. "Aren't there some relatives of Ian's you need to speak with?"

"Oh, no," replied Hermione's aunt. She turned to Ron again. "I'll admit that I thought dear Hermione might not fancy men, if you catch my meaning, even after Alice told me that she'd be bringing a date."

"Rania!" exclaimed Alice, looking horrified. "What a horrible thing to say!" She put an arm around Hermione, who looked as though she might cry. Ron found his dislike of Hermione's aunt growing by the minute.

"Oh, please, Alice," continued Rania. "What were we supposed to think? You never spoke of boyfriends, and we barely saw her as it was. And she was such an odd girl, always reading and things. Normal girls aren't like that."

Hermione gave a small gasp, and Ron had to sit on his hands to keep himself from breaking the stem of his glass. He couldn't remember ever meeting a person he disliked so much. Her disdain for the feelings of others reminded him forcibly of Draco Malfoy.

"You are embarrassing yourself," Alice hissed at her sister. "And Sasha, for that matter."

"Oh, pish tosh," said Rania, reaching again for her glass. When she couldn't immediately find it, she reached for Ron's instead. "Everyone in the family knows that your daughter," she said loudly, swinging her glass in the direction of Hermione's frozen and ashen-faced form, "is some kind of freak. She didn't even go to a proper school, for God's sake. She's the embarrassment, not me."

As Alice turned angrily to her sister, Ron noticed Hermione rise to her feet and walk quickly away from the table. Her father threw his napkin to the table in disgust and went after her.

"You daft old cow!" Ron said, finally turning to Rania, who looked quite puzzled at his outburst. "I'll have you know that Hermione is one of the most amazing women I've ever known, as well as the brightest person I've ever met. She's sincere, compassionate, and brilliant, three things that I cannot say about you. You would be lucky to have a daughter that was even half the woman Hermione is, and I can say with all honesty that I pity any child that had to grow up with a mother like you."

"How dare you speak to me that way!" Rania said indignantly. "I'll have you know that our family is one of the most prominent in all of Britain, and I could hardly expect someone conditioned in American to understand…"

"I might not be in your social registry," Ron interrupted. "And I know that I don't have the money that you do. But if money and prestige would turn me into you, you can keep it. I'd rather live in a gutter than behave like you do." He turned to Hermione's mother. "Mrs. Granger, I apologize for that outburst. Now, if you'll excuse me." He turned and walked from the room.

* * *

Author's Note: I am so sorry that it's taken me so long to upload this! I tried to post it a few weeks ago, but I havea Mac at home, and my browser + this site really wonky formatting. Hopefully, it won't be too long before I have the next installment. Many thanks to Paula, my lovely beta, for her help, and to all my loyal readers. 


	7. In the Garden

The warm afternoon sun had sunk behind the tree line, casting the picturesque gardens into soft twilight. Ron made his way along the rapidly-darkening paths, hoping to find Hermione before becoming hopelessly lost among the hedges. A soft laugh drifting from somewhere nearby caught his attention, and he quickened his steps.

He reached a small clearing and found Hermione sitting on a stone bench with her father. Mr. Granger's arm was draped protectively around his daughter, and Hermione's head was resting on her father's shoulder. Her face was red and streaked with tears and she held a crumpled handkerchief in her hand. Mr. Granger whispered something in Hermione's ear and she laughed, the first genuine laugh Ron had heard from her all day.

Ron stepped out from the shadow of the hedge, catching the attention of Hermione and her father. Mr. Granger kissed Hermione's forehead and stood to leave. As he crossed the clearing, he stopped in front of Ron.

"I daresay you can probably cheer her up better than I can, anyway," Mr. Granger said, extending a hand to Ron. "Take care of her."

"Of course," said Ron, shaking Mr. Granger's hand.

"I know she's a grown woman, and I know she's more than capable of taking care of herself," Mr. Granger said, casting a fond look at Hermione. "But it's hard not to think of her as a little girl sometimes."

Ron smiled. "My mum says that about my sister, too. Well, she probably says it about all of us, just not to our faces."

Mr. Granger chuckled. "From what I've heard of your mother, that wouldn't surprise me in the slightest." His expression sobered. "Ron, I'm sure you know that my daughter is a proud woman. She doesn't let people get close to her very often. In fact, I can think of only a handful of people over a lifetime that have ever been as close to Hermione as you are. I hope you know how rare and valuable that is."

"Of course I do," said Ron, looking puzzled. "But we're only…"

"You both can say whatever you want about it," Mr. Granger interrupted. "But I know my daughter. And I know that she wouldn't have asked you to be here today if it didn't mean something to her." He patted Ron's back and walked up the path and out of sight.

Ron pondered Mr. Granger's words for a minute, confused at his meanings. Did he think that there was something between Ron and Hermione? Something romantic? Obviously Mr. Granger was mistaken, Ron reasoned. Sure, Hermione was a pretty amazing woman, but she was also his best friend. And he knew quite well that there were some lines that a person just didn't cross.

A sniffle from Hermione shook Ron from his thoughts and he walked over to the bench were Hermione still sat, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief.

"I'm so sorry you had you hear all that," she began.

"You don't have anything to apologise for, Hermione," he said. "If anyone should apologise it should be your aunt."

At his words, Hermione's eyes filled with tears again. "No, I mean, don't cry," Ron stammered desperately. "I didn't…"

"You don't understand," she said, standing abruptly and pacing around the clearing. "You don't know what it's like to be different, not the way that I was different." She sighed. "All my life, I knew that I wasn't like the people in my family. I didn't know how, or why, but I knew I was different. And then I got my Hogwarts letter. For the first time in my life, I had an answer. Yes, I was different. I was special. I went off to Hogwarts, and I met other people like me. I didn't feel like an outcast anymore. And then I had to come home for the summer.

"It was horrible. My parents couldn't tell anyone where I'd been all year, and they all assumed the worst, of course. My family, Auntie Rania in particular, treated me like some kind of escaped lunatic. Mum and Dad tried so hard to get them to leave me be, but they just wouldn't." She drew a deep breath and turned back to Ron. "Didn't you ever wonder why I never spent holidays at home?"

"But you did," said Ron, confused.

"No, I didn't," said Hermione, resuming her pacing. "Mum and Dad ended up taking me abroad, or I'd spend the holidays at Hogwarts, or with you and Harry, wherever you were. I couldn't bear the humiliation of Auntie Rania gloating like mad every time she saw me."

"Merlin, Hermione," said Ron. "I had no idea."

"I didn't want to bother anyone by complaining," Hermione said. "And anyway, I didn't mind, really. I had you and Harry and the rest of your family, who all treated me like one of their own. And then the war…" She trailed off, sinking onto the low stone wall that surrounded the gurgling fountain. "Your parents don't have to keep secrets the way mine do. Everyone in your family accepts you for who you are, and are so proud of you for all you've accomplished. After everything I've been through, everything I've done, my family still thinks I'm a freak. Being in there tonight, it was like I was eleven years old again, enduring the stares and whispers, feeling completely alone."

"But you weren't alone," Ron said, crossing the clearing in two strides and kneeling before Hermione in the dirt. "You had your parents, and your grandparents, who love you, even if they don't understand you. Who are ridiculously proud of you, even though they have no idea what it is that you've done." He took her hands. "No, my parents don't have to keep secrets, but that's because most of my parents' relatives are dead. And as for your family, they're mad if they can't see what an amazing woman you are. It's their loss, anyway, if they don't want to know you. Don't let them get to you, Hermione. You're a million times the person your hideous aunt ever could be."

Hermione smiled sadly. "You don't have to say that…"

"I'm not just saying that," Ron said. He stood and turned Hermione toward the pool of water. "Do you see that person?" he asked, pointing to her reflection. "Do you know what I see when I look at that person?" he asked. "I see one of the brightest, most caring people I've ever met. I see a woman who's seen and lived though one of the most trying times in history, and who came through it all with a smile and an encouraging word to anyone who needed one. I see a woman who loves her family so much that she's willing to endure utter humiliation just to be there for her cousin. I see someone who's beautiful and smart and kind, and anyone who sees anything else when they look at you can sod off, for all I care. Hermione," he said, waiting for her to lift her face and meet his eyes. "You are an incredible person. Don't ever let anyone, especially your dreadful aunt, tell you otherwise."

The silence that crashed down around him nearly knocked him sideways. Hermione sat frozen, her eyes round. Ron cast around desperately for something else to say, but found himself completely at a loss for words. He started to stand, but Hermione placed a hand on his arm, causing him to pause. Her eyes were again brimming with tears.

"That," she said quietly, "was the nicest thing I think anyone's ever said to me." She dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief again, and Ron sat back down.

"It's the truth," he said simply, surprising himself when he realized that he meant it. Sure, he'd always thought that Hermione was pretty incredible, but he'd never actually said the words out loud before. Now that he'd said it, he realized how true his words had been. She really was an amazing woman.

She smiled. "Thank you," she said, sounding almost shy. She studied her handkerchief for a moment, and then her hands flew to her face. "Oh, I must look dreadful," she said, dabbing at her eyes again.

"You look beautiful," Ron said, again surprising himself with the truth of his words.

"Hardly beautiful," she scoffed.

"Beautiful," he said softly, reaching over and tracing the outline of her jaw with his finger. She turned to face him, and suddenly their faces were close, closer than they'd ever been. He could see the individual tears still clinging to her eyelashes. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He leaned in closer.

"There you are!"

Ron jumped to his feet as Hermione's mother strode into view. She walked over to the fountain and sat down beside Hermione.

"Oh, darling, I'm so sorry about that," Mrs. Granger said, pulling Hermione into a hug. "I can't believe Rania would behave like that, I'm just appalled."

"Really, Mum, it's okay," said Hermione.

"No, it isn't," Mrs. Granger said. "I know you were planning on going back home this evening. Would you mind terribly if your father and I tagged along?"

"Of course not, Mum. It's your car after all," said Hermione, getting to her feet. "But I don't want you and Dad to leave on my account."

"I know, darling. To tell the truth, I'm completely fed up with Rania after that display. Grandmum and Grandad aren't too pleased with her at the moment, either," Mrs. Granger said, her delicate features twisting into a scowl. "Imagine, carrying on like that, at her age. It's completely ridiculous." She turned to Ron. "I've never seen anyone stand up to Rania the way you did in there," she said, smiling. "I'm impressed."

Ron's face flushed. "Well, I mean," he stammered. "I didn't mean to cause a scene…"

"Scene?" Hermione said, faintly. "Oh, Ron, what did you do?"

"Nothing!" Ron said quickly. "Well, I might have said a few things…"

"He gave your aunt a telling-off that she won't soon forget," Mrs. Granger said, beaming. "Called her a 'daft old cow,' if I remember correctly."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Did you really?" she asked.

"I didn't…" Ron began, but stopped when he noticed the smile on Mrs. Granger's face. "Look, she was being horrible, and I just couldn't sit there and listen to it." He sighed. "And I do believe the phrase 'daft old cow' was in there somewhere. I don't take back what I said, because someone needed to shut her up. But I am sorry that I couldn't hold my temper." He chanced a look at Hermione, and was surprised to see that she wasn't scowling at him.

"Well," she said slowly. "Normally I wouldn't condone that kind of behaviour." She looked at her mum, and broke into a grin. "But she was being a bit of a hag, wasn't she?"

* * *

_AN: Sorry for the delay in getting this posted. Thank you to all my lovely reviewers! Hopefully, I'll have the next bit up in a shorter interval. _


	8. Getting Some Perspective

Ron paced frantically about the lobby, careful not to tread on the toes of passing guests. How could he have been so stupid? He'd expected the worst all day, but he couldn't possibly have imagined that his big slip-up would come in the form to trying to kiss Hermione. _I don't even want to know what she must think of me,_ he thought, finally sinking into a nearby armchair. He'd always thought Hermione was pretty terrific, but to decide to announce it to her, in a garden, after she'd been crying her eyes out and after he'd told off her aunt, was just foolish. And the kiss! What on earth had possessed him to do that?

_It had to have been the setting_, he decided. Honestly. A beautiful garden. At sunset. With a fountain. After a wedding. It sounded like a scene taken straight from one of the witches' magazines that his mother got 'for the recipes.' And Hermione really was a wonderful person, but he hadn't spent any decent amount of time with her in five years. And here he went, buggering up their first real attempt to rekindle their old friendship by being stupid. He stood angrily and started pacing again.

Hermione and her mother had returned to the reception to say their goodbyes and to collect Hermione's grandmother. Ron was not looking forward to what was sure to be a long and awkward car ride back to London. Being in such tight quarters with Hermione's parents and grandmother was not an ideal situation under normal circumstances, as Grandmother Granger still had no idea her granddaughter was a witch. But after the incident in the garden, Ron just knew that the close quarters and lack of anything else to occupy their attentions would make the drive seem that much longer.

He heard heels clicking against the polished floor and turned to see Hermione hurrying toward him. She looked agitated, and he wondered briefly if she was going to tell him off for his behaviour.

"Bad news," she said, pulling him into a corridor off the main lobby. "We can't leave."

"Why not?" he asked, hoping that he wasn't required to go back in to the reception and face dreaded Auntie Rania.

"Apparently, there's been an accident on the A-23. Some kind of spill, from the footage on the news. The police have closed down the entire road. We can't return to London until they open it back up again."

"What?" Ron said blankly.

"A lorry that was carrying chemicals or something turned over and spilled all over the road," Hermione said patiently. "I just heard about it from the news. There was some kind of accident, apparently. I don't know the details; all I know is that the police have closed down the entire road until they can contain the spill or clean it or whatever it is that they do in these situations." She took a deep breath, pushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm really sorry about this."

Ron's mind raced. He was effectively trapped in this hotel with Hermione and her family. He hadn't prepared for this. How on earth was he supposed to interact with Muggles for an entire evening?

"Look," Hermione continued, drawing his attention. "You don't have to stay. I'll make an excuse for you, and you can go up to the hotel room and Apparate back to London. My parents will understand."

"What about you?" he asked. "What are you going to do?"

"I have to stay," she said, sounding miserable at the thought. "Everyone in the family knows that the road is closed, and they'll get suspicious if I disappear all evening."

Ron thought for a moment. This was his chance to escape – but he didn't want to leave Hermione to fend for herself with her awful aunt.

"No," he said. "I'll stay."

"You don't have to," Hermione assured him. "Honestly, I know you're uncomfortable, and I really appreciate you being here. I don't want to put you out or anything. And Grandmother Granger told me that Auntie Rania is currently in a sherry-induced stupor in her hotel room. I'll be fine, I promise."

"I know that," Ron said. "But it's not fair for me to duck out and leave you alone. I will need to get back to London for a bit, though. I didn't bring any pyjamas or anything like that, and I need to check in with the office."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, her eyes hopeful.

"Yes," he said. "As long as we don't have to go back in to that awful reception."

* * *

Ginny stirred a cup of mint tea absentmindedly at her kitchen table and flipped through the Daily Prophet. She loved her lazy Saturday evenings, on the rare occasions that she wasn't called away on some emergency from the office. Her hair, still damp from the long bath she'd taken earlier in the evening, fell heavy on her shoulders. A soft breeze danced through the open kitchen window, ruffling the corners of her paper as she read. From somewhere in the distance, a faint birdsong caught her ear. The whole evening was very quiet and peaceful. Which made the sudden and unexpected appearance of her youngest elder brother all the more alarming.

"Ginny?" Ron called, stepping toward the table. "Where are you?"

Ginny sputtered indignantly, wiping spilled tea from her hands as she untangled herself from her chair. "What on earth was that for, you prat?" she said, struggling to right herself after tumbling to the floor upon his arrival.

"Sorry, Ginny," he said, rushing over and righting the chair again.

She scowled at him, cleaning up the tea with a wave of her wand and Vanishing her now-soggy newspaper. "Well, what is it, then?" she asked, impatiently. "Oh, hang on a minute," she said, sitting back down and glancing at the clock on the wall. "Shouldn't you still be with Hermione at the wedding? How did everything go?"

Ron groaned and buried his face in his hands. "It's a mess, Ginny. The whole thing is just a mess."

"What happened?" Ginny asked, Summoning the teapot and pouring a cup for her brother.

"Nothing. Everything. Merlin, Ginny. I knew that going to this stupid thing would be a mistake." He looked at the tea in front of him. "Got anything a little stronger?"

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "There's some wine on the counter, and Firewhisky in the cupboard above the icebox." Ron immediately stood and made for the whisky.

"It didn't start off badly," he said, pouring himself a healthy glassful. "I mean, the drive up wasn't bad." He drank deeply from his glass. "But then… I don't know, it was just a reflex or something."

"What was?" Ginny asked.

"This kid was picking on his sister, and he was going to throw her doll into the fireplace, and I just couldn't let it happen. I Summoned the doll."

"You didn't," Ginny said, staring at Ron.

"I did," he said, grimacing at the memory. "And then, at the reception, I told off Hermione's aunt…"

"You what?" Ginny cried, dropping her teacup and spilling tea across the table again.

"She was being awful, Ginny. But I didn't mean to, honest. I just couldn't listen to her tear into Hermione like that, especially after she started crying."

"She was crying? And you told her off? You prat," Ginny said, smacking the back of her brother's head.

"No, Hermione was crying. Her aunt made her cry, and after she ran out of the room I told off her aunt."

"Oh," said Ginny. "Sorry for hitting you, then."

"Anyway," Ron continued, taking another deep pull on his drink, "Hermione ran out crying and I went after her, and…" he lowered his head into his hands again. "Merlin, I'm such an idiot."

"Oh, please," Ginny said, Vanishing the spilled tea yet again. "You can be the world's biggest prat sometimes, but I think as your sister, I'm required to think that. You're not an idiot." She poured her third cup of tea. "What happened when you went after her?"

Ron groaned. "I couldn't help it. I mean, she was so upset and I was trying to make her feel better, and then she just looked at me with those eyes, and they were all sparkly, because she'd been crying… and it was just the two of us, and I just… I mean…"

"Ron," said Ginny. He looked up. "You're rambling. What happened?" She looked at him expectantly, raising her teacup to take a sip.

"I almost kissed her."

Ginny choked, dropping her teacup a third time. Ron buried his face in his hands again as his sister struggled to regain her composure.

"You what?" Ginny screeched, ignoring the burning sensation at the tea dripped from the table on to her lap.

"I know, I know," Ron groaned, replaying the incident in the garden in his head. "I've totally buggered everything up, Ginny."

"What happened?" asked Ginny, Vanishing the dripping tea and casting a quick drying spell on her robe.

Ron told Ginny everything, from the car ride to the hotel to the near-kiss in the garden. "And now, it seems, there's been some kind of accident on the road back to London, and we're probably going to have to stay the night. What am I going to do, Ginny?" he asked, reaching for his glass. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"Don't beat yourself up, Ron," said Ginny, placing a placating hand on her brother's arm. "I think your standing up for Hermione like that was quite chivalrous, actually. Romantic, almost." Ron cast a scathing look at her. "Well, it was," she said. "And anyway, it sounds like Hermione's aunt totally deserved it. What a nightmare. Almost makes me glad all of Mum's family is either dead or boring. That woman makes wretched Pansy Parkinson sound like a tea party."

"I know," said Ron. "You know, I'm starting to think that maybe it's just something with Muggle aunts. I mean, Hermione's parents are lovely. But her aunt… and we all know Harry's aunt was a stroppy old cow, too."

"Good point," said Ginny, grinning. "So tell me about this almost-kiss."

Ron groaned. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Of course you do," Ginny said. "Otherwise you wouldn't have come here. Was it going to be like a friendly, how's-your-mum type kiss, or a serious, let-me-sweep-you-off-your-feet type kiss?"

"How on earth would I know that?" Ron asked. "I didn't actually kiss her."

"Do you fancy her?" Ginny asked.

Ron sighed. "I don't know," he replied.

"I know you did when we were in school," Ginny said. "Why didn't you do something about it then?"

"Are you serious?" Ron asked. "Please, Hermione wouldn't have fancied me in school. Not unless someone slipped her a love potion or something. And besides, she was with Krum, and then there was the whole Lavender fiasco. And then…" Ron trailed off, not wanting to bring himself down further by talking about the final battle. Ginny nodded sympathetically. "And then she took off for Egypt to intern with Bill, and she's been all over the place since then. I haven't even seen her for more than a couple of hours at a time in five years. How am I supposed to fancy someone I don't even see?" Ron paused, drinking the last of the whisky from his glass. "And besides, Hermione loves her work. She loves the travel, the lifestyle. She's been to places that I've only ever read about in books. My work, my life – it's all there," he said, gesturing to the faint city line visible through the kitchen window. "Even if I did still fancy Hermione, which I don't even know if I do, it would never work. I would never ask her to give up her life for me, and I can't imagine doing anything other than what I'm doing now. And it's been five years, Ginny. We're both completely different people."

Ginny nodded thoughtfully. "You may be right, Ron," she said. "Lord knows you've learned a thing or two since our school days." She poked him playfully, and he grinned. "But first, you need to work out how you really feel about Hermione. It's completely possible that you've outgrown your crush on her, and that the near-kiss in the garden was simply a throwback to how you would have behaved the last time you were around her. Or it could be that you do still fancy her. I can't tell you which is right."

"I know," Ron said, staring at his empty glass.

"The other thing," Ginny said, pouring herself another cup of tea, "is to talk to Hermione. You two have been friends for far too long to let something like this go unspoken."

Ron nodded. "You're right. Thanks, Ginny."

"Anytime," she said, smiling. "Now, do you have any other bombs to drop on me? Because I'd really like to actually drink my tea this time."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Ron said sheepishly. "I think I'm finished. I have to go via my flat and get some things, anyway. I didn't expect to be spending the night."

"Alright, then," Ginny said, rising to hug her brother. "Let me know how everything turns out, okay?"

"Sure," said Ron. "And thanks again, Ginny." He waved his wand and Disapparated with a pop.


	9. Stopping to Smell the Roses

Hermione walked the length of the elegant hallway for a moment, pondering her options. She knew she couldn't expect Ron to make it through an entire evening of rubbing elbows with her family, but with the road closed down, they didn't have any other choice. It would have been easier, she supposed, if Ron had just gone back to London for the evening. Hermione could have explained away his absence as an upset stomach, and her worries would have been over. But no, Ron had to go and be noble and offer to stay.

And she wasn't even allowing herself to think about what happened in the garden. Her nerves had been on edge all day, and she really didn't think her frazzled brain could bear the strain of trying to reason out what had happened. She could feel a headache building behind her eyes.

She really didn't want to talk to her mother about what happened, and she couldn't talk to anyone else. The only other person in the entire hotel that she felt comfortable talking with was Sasha, and obviously her cousin was occupied with other things. What she needed was some perspective. Someone who would understand, but who wouldn't push her to think about things that she didn't think she really wanted to think about at the moment.

Someone like Harry.

_Of course,_ she though. In the nearly fifteen years that she'd known him, Harry had become almost a surrogate brother to her. She had never had a brother from whom to glean insight into the brains of men, and her father, while being a wonderfully kind man and good role model, didn't exactly spend his time divulging the inner workings of the boy brain. At school, Harry had been the voice of reason when she needed to vent about boys. Well, about one boy in particular. And seeing as the boy giving her fits at the moment was the same one who'd given her fits in school, Harry was the perfect person to see.

She ducked around a corner and into a deserted hallway. Pulling out her wand, she Disapparated with a pop.

The terrace was neat and shaded, furnished with an elegant wrought iron table and matching chairs. Arms of ivy snaked up the low brick wall that separated the terrace from the vibrant garden plot. Hermione walked over to the French doors that led into Harry's study and rapped gently. As she waited, she admired the beautiful roses that grew up a neat trellis next to the door.

"Hermione?" Harry said, pulling open the door. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, hi, Harry," Hermione said, straightening. "These roses are beautiful, by the way."

"Thanks," Harry said, running a hand through his messy hair. "When I lived with my aunt and uncle, I had to do all the gardening. When I got this place, it just looked naked before I put in the garden. And at least this time, I got to pick what I planted and where."

Hermione smiled. "I doubt even Neville could have done a better job."

Harry laughed. "Neville helped me with all the plants, actually. But I doubt you came all this way to chat about my garden."

"No, I suppose I didn't," Hermione said. "May I come in?"

"Of course," Harry said, ushering her inside. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, Harry. I don't even know where to start," Hermione said, sinking into a leather armchair. Harry cleaned off the corner of his desk and leaned against it. "I knew it was a mistake to invite Ron, but I didn't know what else to do."

"Tell me what happened," Harry said.

Hermione sighed. "The motorway's been shut down. We can't drive back to London, so my entire family – and me, by default – is stranded in Newick. I told Ron that he didn't have to stay – that I could just tell everyone that he felt unwell or something and was having a lie-down in the room, but he went and volunteered to stay. It's been hard enough keeping people from asking awkward questions with the wedding to distract them. But now they'll have nothing better to do but sit around and chat, and I really don't think my nerves can handle it." She took a deep breath, massaging her temples again. "I've been fighting off a nervy spaz all day, and I was really looking forward to getting home." She looked up. "Do you have a Calming Draught around here somewhere? Because I could really use one."

Harry smiled. "No, but I do have some of these." He reached over the desk and pulled a small white bottle from the top drawer.

"Aspirin?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," Harry replied, handing her the bottle. "Works just as well as a Headache Potion, but without the wretched taste." He offered her a glass of water from a pitcher on the blotter.

"To be honest, I keep lots of Muggle medicine around the house," Hermione said. She swallowed the aspirin. "Most potions taste so horrible."

"I know," said Harry. "And you've never even had Skele-Gro, either."

Hermione pulled a face. "Oh, I've heard horror stories, believe me." She set the glass of water down on an end table and sighed again. "Really, it hasn't been a bad day. Ron's been on his best behaviour. I've just been so worried about something going wrong that I'm working myself into fits."

"Well," Harry said, smiling slightly, "you always were prone to thinking too much about things."

Hermione laughed. "I'll admit that I do tend to overthink things. I don't know." She looked out the window at the rapidly darkening sky. "He told off my aunt."

"He what?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

"He told off my aunt," Hermione repeated. "Or so I was told. I wasn't there when he did it."

Harry shook his head. "Damn that Weasley temper."

"Oh, it wasn't like that," Hermione said. "My aunt is a wretched woman, and she'd had a bit too much sherry. She started saying all these awful things to me, and I got so upset I had to leave the room. Apparently, after I left, Ron had words with her. My mum told me later that she'd never seen anyone stand up to my aunt like that."

"Is he at the hotel now?" Harry asked.

"Oh, no," Hermione replied. "He went back to his flat to get some things – his toothbrush and pyjamas, I imagine – and to check in with his office. Really, I should probably be getting back. He'll be back at the hotel soon, I expect."

"Hermione," Harry said, trying very hard to be tactful. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you stopped by, but why did you come here?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione said, blushing slightly.

"Well, if nothing's gone wrong, and you just needed to vent, you could have rung. You know I keep a telephone. Something has to have happened, besides the closing of the motorway, to warrant you coming all the way here."

Hermione sighed. "I know, I know. I just…" she trailed off, taking another sip of water. "I don't know if I imagined it, or if I just read too much into it, or what, but I'm fairly certain that Ron almost kissed me."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "You're joking."

"No," Hermione said. "Well, maybe – I don't know. We were in the garden, and I was upset because of my aunt, and Ron came after me. We were talking, and he was trying to make me feel better, and I could have sworn he was leaning in, like he wanted to kiss me. But then my mum showed up and so I don't know." She sighed again. "I'd hate to think that he was going to kiss me to make me feel better. I mean, I don't need that to make me feel better. And it's been five years since we've spent any proper time together, so I don't know what it was supposed to mean or…"

"Hermione," Harry said, cutting her off. She looked up in surprise. "Did you want him to kiss you?"

"I…" She buried her face in her hands. "Would I be a horrible slag if I said yes?"

Harry sat on the arm of the chair, pulling Hermione into a hug. "Of course not."

She leaned her head against Harry's chest. "I'm just so confused, Harry," she said. "I don't even know if he was really trying to kiss me or not. And I'm a grown woman. I shouldn't be so distraught about this."

"You're a grown woman who's always had a soft spot for gangly, red-haired men with Quidditch obsessions and quick tempers," Harry said, patting her softly on the shoulder. "Don't beat yourself up about it. I can't tell you what Ron did or did not mean to do, but I can tell you that in the five years since Hogwarts, I've never known him to kiss - or even almost kiss - anyone."

"Really?" Hermione asked, looking up at Harry.

"Really," Harry replied. "He's gone out with a few girls, but nothing more. He always said he was too busy for seeing someone seriously. But I've always thought it was because he still carried a bit of a torch for you."

"Please," Hermione said. "Ron's never fancied me."

"You're joking, right?" Harry asked, bemusedly. "Of course he has. Mercy, Hermione, do you not remember the Yule Ball?"

"That was just jealousy because Viktor was famous," Hermione said dismissively.

"That was because he fancied you like mad, but didn't realise it at the time." Harry said. "Everything he ever did, even getting involved with Lavender, was in direct reaction to you."

"It was?" Hermione asked, thinking back to their school days.

"It was," Harry said. "I always thought that Ron would tell you about it someday, but there were Horcruxes to be found and worlds to be saved. And then, you left for Egypt. Ron was glad when you were assigned to Bill – he told me once that it made him feel better about you being so far away. At least that way, if anything happened to you, Bill would be sure to contact him."

"Wow," Hermione said faintly. "I had no idea."

Harry smiled. "Honestly, I don't think Ron realised it, either. Maybe he still hasn't. But if he nearly kissed you at the hotel, I'd say it was a fair bet that he's got the picture now."

Hermione tried to respond, but couldn't think of anything to say. Her mind was racing in ten different directions.

"Look," Harry said, after a moment. "You just need to talk to Ron, that's all. You'll have plenty of time tonight, since you've got nowhere else to go. But you need to work out how you feel about him as well."

"I know," Hermione said.

Harry pulled her into another hug. "Just spend some time with him. See how things go. And then you two need to have a conversation about things."

Hermione nodded silently, still trying to comprehend everything she'd learned. A clock on the wall chimed softly. Glancing at the time, she stood to leave.

"Thank you, Harry," she said.

"Anytime, Hermione," Harry said, smiling. "If you make it back in time, drop in tomorrow afternoon for lunch. I'll have champagne for celebrating and tissues for a pity party, just in case."

Hermione smiled. "I will," she said, and with a swish of her wand and a soft pop, she Disapparated.

Harry smiled to himself as he straightened the pile of papers he'd moved to clear a spot on his desk. He collected Hermione's empty water glass and the book he'd been reading when she had arrived and left the office, heading for the kitchen and something to eat. The light was on, and he could hear the faint hum of the radio. Stepping through the doorway, he smiled again.

"You'll never guess who just came to see me," he said, dropping his book onto the scrubbed wooden table. He paused for a moment, sniffing the air. "Why does the table smell like mint?"


End file.
